dry away your tears
by kohee
Summary: Aizawa hates seeing Shiraishi cry. Aizawa/Shiraishi


one-shot; _dry away your tears_  
pairing: aizawa kosaku/shiraishi megumi  
word count: 1484 words  
note: This is me trying to squeeze in a scene I really want to see in the finale tonight. More notes at the end.

 **EDIT post finale:** ok lol I didn't even come close to predicting anything, but since I had it written, roll with it.

* * *

Aizawa hates seeing Shiraishi cry.

It wasn't as if he was constantly subjected to her crying, of course. Shiraishi innately was a strong person, proud in her own way, tougher than she seemed, and tears did not come easily to her at all. So when she did cry, it was because whatever that had happened was too much, she was on the verge of breaking, or maybe she was already broken. And he hated that, because he could wish with all his heart that he could mend her, heal her, but he knew he wasn't going to be able to do so, because he didn't know how to.

He could still remember the first time he saw her cry. It was nine years ago, but he could still remember it, every single second of it. He remembered how her face crumpled at Kuroda-sensei's words, as guilt, sorrow and devastation ate her up. She had run out, even though it was a thunderstorm out there, and he had given chase without second thoughts. He didn't know why he ran after her then, and he wasn't sure he knew exactly why now. All he knew was that she shouldn't be alone, because no one should be alone when they were crying as if their whole world had fallen apart.

He stood behind her as she cried, berating herself, hating herself, and he had nothing to say to her, couldn't think of anything to say to her. After all, nothing he said would make her feel better, and he knew it.

So he crouched down beside her, could only watch as her anguish and her guilt poured out in torrents, along with the torrential rain. He stretched out his hand, and then he hesitated, because he didn't know whether would it be too intrusive for him to touch her in her grief. But hearing the raw pain in her heart wrenching sobs, pain that was somehow so loud and clear, even against the thundering rain, was what made him place her hand on her shoulder, in a gesture of comfort.

She didn't even seem to notice him touching her, she didn't move from where she was, and her tears did not stop falling. He didn't know what comfort he was giving her, perhaps his presence was even irrelevant as far as she was concerned, but all he knew was that he wanted to be there with her, because he didn't want her to be alone.

The rain eventually slowed, and then stopped, but her tears didn't, and he stayed with her until her tears did. He had urged her to go back to the hospital, to change out of her wet clothes, and she looked like she wanted to refuse. Eventually, she nodded her head; she was all cried out, she was exhausted, she didn't know what to do anymore, except to follow him. He picked up all her scattered belongings as he walked her back into the hospital. He pushed her gently towards the locker room and the shower, and as she went, Hiyama and Fujikawa peered in. He didn't tell them much, just that she needed time to be okay, and left it at that.

He stood just outside the locker room, waiting for her to come out so that he could be sure that she was all right. He didn't even realise he himself was also soaking wet, not until Fujikawa pointed it out to him, and that he should also probably take a shower if he didn't want to fall ill.

He didn't though, he waited for her. And when she came out, clothes dry, eyes red, and somewhat still wet, he sat her down at the office, and gave her the hot tea Hiyama had bought out of the vending machine. She avoided his eyes, and mumbled her thanks. He nodded, saying nothing, and then it was over, this momentary _thing_ between them.

They had never talked about it. There was no need to talk about it.

The second time he saw her cry was on the train, in public. It had been a harrowing, exhausting day. She had lost patients. He had lost patients. They were going home in silence, absorbed in their own thoughts, thinking about how _powerless_ they really were, when it came down to it, when she started crying.

He looked over to see her hunched over, trying to control her sobs, but ultimately failing to do so, as they escaped her, along with her tears. He was reminded of that day in the rain – a day that he had not thought about in a while – and he felt the same way he did then. His heart constricted a little to hear her cry, but he knew that there was nothing he could do or say to make her feel better. He couldn't do anything two years ago, and it was the same now.

He saw the curious looks and the loud whispers as other passengers in the train car looked at her, and he thought about how much she would hate for people to see her in this state, her vulnerability and her pain. Quietly, he left his position by her side, and stood directly in front of her, shielding her pain from the eyes of others. He protected her in the only way he knew how.

There would be no words of comfort from him to her, because it would all sound false. He didn't believe in false words and false hopes, and neither did she. There was nothing that could be said, because they were doctors, not God, and these failings would continue to happen.

Her sobs eventually quieted, as she regained control of her emotions and her thoughts. Still, he did not move away, he stayed there until they reached their stop, and then they walked off the train together. He remained half a step behind her, as usual, making sure that she was all right, or the very least, she would eventually be all right.

They did not talk about that either. Again, there was no need to.

And now, this is the third time she's crying in front of him.

He's lying on the hospital bed, groggy and disorientated, but he remembers what had happened, some of it. He was talking to her on the radio, and then it came crashing down, dirt and rubble, and then he couldn't remember anymore.

There's bits and pieces floating around in his memory – flashes of light, people shouting, – their voices mixing incomprehensively, one voice rising above another – and faint beeping of machines, but his memory isn't complete.

He doesn't know how many days had it been, or how bad are his injuries, all he knows now that he is alive, and God, he hopes that he is still completely _here_ , as he was. He lets his eyes adjust to the harsh lights of the hospital room, focuses on the IV drips beside his bed, and blinks at the monitor monitoring his vitals.

His gaze eventually settles on her, she's seated on a chair beside his bed. She's dressed in a gown, so he assumes that he must be in Intensive Care Unit. She's sleeping, her head resting on her arm against the edge of his bed, her other hand resting on top of his, her fingers curling loosely around his hand. He focuses on the feeling of her hand around his. It makes him feel safe, somehow.

He wants to call her name, but there's an oxygen mask on his face, and he couldn't sound the words. So he moves his hand, and then she jerks awake. She sits up, and then she looks at him. She looks tired, he notices, exhausted and haggard, as if she hasn't slept for days. Relief flooded over her face when she saw that his eyes are opened. She calls his name, and she tells him everything is fine, that he's fine, there are no permanent injuries, no disabilities, just maybe a long road to recovery.

And then she starts crying, tears spilling out of her eyes, until she is sobbing profusely, emitting wrenching sobs of relief. Her fingers tightens around his hand, gripping it tightly, as if she's afraid he'll disappear if she loosens her hold on him.

 _I'm okay_ , he wants to say, but he can't. He wants to tell her he's okay, he's fine, and he's here, so that she will stop crying, because he hates to see her cry. For the first time, he thinks that maybe he can do something about her tears, after all, she's crying because of him.

So he returns the pressure on her hand, tries to convey his reassurance through his touch, and he hopes that she understands. And as he watches a smile breaking through her tears, he thinks perhaps she does.

Aizawa likes it better when Shiraishi smiles.

* * *

A/N: I actually did not intend for this to turn out angsty, but then again, what do I expect if I want to write about Shiraishi crying? -_-;; Also, in my memory, he'd only ever seen her cry twice, so if I messed this up, someone ping me. It was quite a trip revisiting Season 1 & 2, just to remember some of my own thoughts about it. Mostly about how fugly Yamapi's hair was in the first season...hahaha...and...other thoughts.

Anyway, so yes, Shiraishi keeping vigil by Aizawa's bed is what I want to see (and probably will not see, damnit) tonight…sobs. But I can still hope…( **edit:** so the real thing ain't as dramatic but as I've said, I'm keeping this :P)

And thus it's #challengeaccepted and #challengecompleted for me! It's been so much fun (although for a couple times, most notedly my conference weekend, I was really forcing myself to write, hence a couple of fics are maybe a bit substandard) and I can't believe I actually did it as well, 14 consecutive days of writing for this fandom. Thanks to _**everyone**_ who read my work, left me a review, you guys are a huge part of the reason why I did this, and how I managed to complete the challenge.

I am aware I still have a fic to finish, so I won't stop writing – especially if the finale is half-baked and then I will need to write fix-it fics to fix it for myself, hahaha.

As always, I welcome all reviews, comments and criticisms, because they are fuel for a writer's soul. Thank you!


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